[Intro]
Yo
Supa Good
Inglewood
Listen
[Verse 1]
Bullets in the clip hot
Pull it and a kid drop
Would he ever live if he grew up in a Ziploc?
Sheltered from the riff-raff
Never heard of hiphop
Caught up in the grit, still they holler, "Fear not"
Aimin' for the lid, better be in tip-top
Family from the Beach, showed him how to Crip walk
Brother was a Blood, he slangin' that Chris Rock
Got minutes on the wristwatch
Watchin' as it tick-tock
Barely had a piss-pot
Bloody as his fist got
Muddy as his kicks got
Homie never did stop
Aimin' to get rich, he takin' a clear shot
Family's at the goal, he buyin' 'em clear lots
'Bout to show the world as soon as this shit drops
That he spill his soul every time he clear his thoughts on paper, uh
[Chorus]
This nigga's the truth, y'all niggas just rule on paper (On paper)
If money ain't good money, nigga, I'm cool on paper
Still stack that shit up, 'bout to take y'all to school on paper (On paper)
On paper
[Post-Chorus]
Yippety-do, hickory-dock, your body
Slippery slope, hippety-hop, Bugatti
What would you do if you couldn't cop your ride there?
Fuck what you tip, you fall off the top, no lie, nigga (Supa)
[Verse 2]
The streets sick enough and ain't no antidote
The goddamn Rugers, they'll pick you up and split your cantaloupe
A hard damn ruler, you still align, these niggas like antelope
You know your shooters, you still define a real life general (Listen)
Calle atrás, calle vas
Ahorita más gente saben tu nombre
Ayer las estrellas más brillantes dijeron que ganaste anoche
After all the darkness, y'all, the sun gon' shine again, that's on bones
He black, Mexican, and homegrown
I do this for my next of kin and my zone
And for that paper, ah
[Chorus]
This nigga's the truth, y'all niggas just rule on paper (On paper)
If money ain't good money, nigga, I'm cool on paper
Still stack that shit up, 'bout to take y'all to school on paper (On paper)
On paper, nigga
[Post-Chorus]
Yippety-do, hickory-dock, your body
Slippery slope, hippety-hop, Bugatti
What would you do if you couldn't cop your ride there?
Fuck what you tip, you fall off the top, no lie, nigga (Listen)
[Outro]
Calle atrás, calle vas
Ahorita más gente saben tu nombre
Ayer las estrellas más brillantes dijeron que ganaste anoche
Fire cars and smokin' carbon
Nose deposits, fill up lungs, chokin' artist
Half the shit I spit was never written down
They fuck with what I wrote regardless
On Paper was written by My Guy Mars & D Smoke.
On Paper was produced by My Guy Mars.